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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986312">Letter of Intent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chivience/pseuds/Chivience'>Chivience</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Soft Sakusa, Touch Aversion, equally whipped and disgusted atsumu, what more can you ask for?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:54:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chivience/pseuds/Chivience</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> He can't stop the accompanying ache in his chest, persistent and echoing and terrifyingly demanding, especially when Sakusa decides to be cute. Contrary to all expectations, this is almost <em>always</em>. It's fine, Atsumu's mourned the loss of a normal cardiac rhythm about a hundred kisses ago.<br/></p>
</blockquote>In the face of an unexpectedly affectionate boyfriend, what’s an emotionally constipated person to do?
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>779</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Letter of Intent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Brief mentions of nausea, no vomiting actually happens. </p><p>Thank you so much to the SASS discord for indulging me in this one. Without you guys, I wouldn’t even be writing. Anyway I think the fandom needs more endearing, soft Omi; throw in simp Atsumu and we have ourselves a good time.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With how hard he wrenches away from sweet words and sweeter kisses, Atsumu ought to be clinically diagnosed with a severe allergy to acts of affection. </p><p>Sure, he offers hugs and high-fives to his teammates; sure, he's not opposed to some spirited nights. But he never stays. He never means anything more than friendship and companionship and bed-warming camaraderie. </p><p>It's not something he's surprised about—not with his childhood filled with play fighting (and real fighting) and teen years filled with volleyball (and more volleyball). He can never find the time to go on dates, and he sure as hell doesn’t have someone in his life who's lovey-dovey. If he has to hear couples complete each other's sentences, or see them tunnel-vision onto each other, or—god <em>forbid</em>—has to bear witness to them holding hands one more time, he's going to give in to the heaving urge to lose his food. </p><p>(Everyone he's told this to tells him he's being dramatic. He's <em>not </em>being dramatic, he's only watching out for himself.)</p><p>The life Atsumu leads belongs to him and him alone. It’s not one that demands cuddles and coddles. The only wordless connections he needs lie on the court. The only tunnel-vision focus he has is given to late-night practices. The only smiles he desires are the vicious, feral things spawned from the thrill of victory.</p><p>When he ends up getting together with Sakusa, he relishes in the fact that they're cut from the same cloth—can he be blamed? Sakusa doesn't bother hiding the flinches when someone approaches him. If someone compliments him, they get a tiny, pinched smile at best; most times they barely receive a nod of acknowledgement. Sakusa can't even handle Atsumu's nickname for him without rolling his eyes in disdain. This is a good thing, Atsumu thinks—he doesn’t have to deal with any horrifying display of emotions. </p><p>God, Atsumu has <em>never </em>been more wrong. He's never been more <em>sorry </em>that he's wrong; sorry for himself, that is, because it turns out Sakusa isn't averse to affection at all. </p><p>It turns out that, in some devastating cosmic prank, Sakusa is soft and sweet and sickeningly insatiable.</p><p>Atsumu doesn't fucking expect this when he teasingly offers to hold Sakusa's hand on his couch. He thinks he'll get to fluster Sakusa for once—maybe get to see a blush, rub it in a little. What ends up happening is Sakusa curling a pinky finger around his, tilting his head <em>just so,</em> enough for his curls to tumble down and curtain an eye. Syrupy-slow, he blinks.</p><p>"Like this?" he asks, and Atsumu can see the hesitant way his lips shape around the words because he's maskless—<em>maskless</em>. A physical bolt of pain lances through the space between Atsumu's ribs, serrated and sharp. He has to bite his tongue so that no embarrassingly winded whimpers escape.</p><p>"MmmHM," he forces out from behind gritted teeth.</p><p>Sakusa gives him a small smile at that, one that dimples at the corners and gently curves the outer edges of his eyes—and thank fuck Sakusa's only like this in private, because Atsumu wouldn't know what to do if he behaved like this elsewhere. Get some beta blockers for his heart, maybe. Call up Osamu and ask him to write a eulogy, maybe.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As a form of long-standing karmic retribution, this sparks a whole line of disasters. </p><p>Within the next month, Sakusa progresses alarmingly rapidly from pinky touches to wrist kisses to hugs, and he settles on extended cuddling sessions at the horrible, horrible expense of Atsumu's cardiovascular system. It's definitely not normal for his heart to be tripping over itself so hard that he can feel it twist in his throat, right?</p><p>From where he's spilled across Atsumu on his bed, one arm tucked around Atsumu's waist, Sakusa nuzzles deeper into his neck. </p><p>"What's wrong, Atsumu?" Sakusa baits, stretching out the sibilance and syllables of his name because he knows <em>exactly </em>how much Atsumu's breathing stutters at it even after a month of dating. His other hand slides up to rest above Atsumu's traitorous, hammering heart. "It's beating so fast."</p><p>Fuck this guy, Atsumu hasn't had ample time to mentally prepare for this assault, so of course he wouldn't be able to rewrite an entire lifetime of conditioned antagonism against emotions. He hisses and untangles his foot from their mess of lower limbs to kick at Sakusa's calves with his heel, "I'm gonna getcha back for this at practice tomorrow. Also I'm gonna need a warning fer all yer future attempts at pullin' this shit."</p><p>Sakusa hums noncommittally and snuggles tighter.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Any efforts to get helpful advice on dealing with an overly affectionate boyfriend as someone who wouldn't prod tenderness with a fifteen metre pole are shot down by dry laughter and snarking (from Osamu), confused stares as people without similar experiences (from Bokuto and Shouyou), and virtual facepalms and comments on how lucky he is (from various Reddit users—Atsumu was desperate).</p><p>Atsumu thinks he can maybe get over the whole physical affection thing with some well-timed, well-spaced-out exposure therapy. But when it's paired with animal hair clips and unpracticed smiles and lighthearted banter, it's impossible. </p><p>There's no way he can stop the crashing wave of diffused golden fondness whenever he sees Sakusa stare down the kettle while waiting for it to boil for his tea, or whenever Sakusa scrunches his nose as he scrubs at a particularly tough spot of grime, or whenever Sakusa squints before dropping a kiss on Atsumu's forehead (it's one of his many tells).</p><p>He also can't stop the accompanying ache in his chest, persistent and echoing and terrifyingly demanding, especially when Sakusa decides to be cute. Contrary to all expectations, this is almost <em>always</em>. It's fine, Atsumu's mourned the loss of a normal cardiac rhythm about a hundred kisses ago.</p><p>Everything comes to a head one day when Sakusa walks into the living room, face dewy from his post-shower facial mask. His hair is pushed back by the fluffy neon green headband Komori gave him as a joke. Even as he extends his arms out for a hug, the sleeves of his sweater still drape over his wrists. His cheeks are flushed, eyes impossibly dark.</p><p>Atsumu stops breathing.</p><p>Noting a lack of response, Sakusa shuffles forward and clenches and unclenches his fists as incentive. "Stop making me wait."</p><p>"Oh my god," Atsumu wheezes. He thinks his soul might have left his body. He certainly <em>feels </em>a breeze away from collapsing. In a bid to stop the terror from encroaching further, he extends a pointed finger into the space between them, turns his head away to avoid looking at his personal monstrosity. "Okay, Omi-omi, that's it. I'm playin' the 'relationships work two ways' card and I'm callin' my bargain. No more cute lovey things unless ya give me prior verbal warning. No more cuddles unless ya give prior <em>written </em>warning."</p><p>At this, Sakusa's mouth draws into a pout—fuck. Surely it has to be planned, surely Sakusa knows what he's doing, because Atsumu suffers another strike to his gut and he almost stuffs all his words back into his mouth. Months of adversity coerces the rest of his conditions out. "And— written warnings should be given twelve hours in advance, with all terms stated, and with one witness signature. I'll have to agree too."</p><p>Face scrunched up in distaste and concentration, Sakusa nods at all of his half-digested, fully-hysterical barrage. "Fine, I accept."</p><p>Oh. He’s not used to people entertaining him. "Yer actually okay with this?" </p><p>"Yes. Here's my verbal warning. I'm going to hug you in the next ten seconds."</p><p>Atsumu sighs, then adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. "I was more concerned about yer getup than the hug. But ya can have a free pass."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A week elapses like this, with Sakusa announcing his presence before he rounds corners and announcing his intentions before any touches. It barely gives Atsumu enough time to brace himself and crush down any wiggling sprouts of debilitating giddiness. (Sometimes, when he really thinks about how far Sakusa goes to indulge his impulsive whims, the dizziness swells up to his head and he has to sit down—but that's neither here nor there.)</p><p>There's an unfortunate flaw: Sakusa can't warn of things he doesn't deem warnable. Whenever he tucks his hair behind his ear or mumbles the grocery list to himself, Atsumu can only pray that the crushing weight on his chest doesn't show on his face. It truly is a plague on his system with how broadly compromised he is. So it goes.</p><p>Between volleyball practice and relationship practice, he almost forgets about the second clause of their agreement; it’s not until he wakes up for his morning jog and spots a cream coloured envelope, innocently laid on their kitchen counter, that his memory is stirred. His name is printed across the front in Sakusa's careful radicals. The expensive glossy ink is very clearly from one of Sakusa's fountain pens.</p><p>Curious, he thumbs it open and draws out the admittedly professional-looking document. It reads:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>23 July, 2019</p>
  <p>Sakusa Kiyoomi<br/>
Your Regretful Boyfriend<br/>
Osaka</p>
  <p>Dear Atsumu,</p>
  <p>As discussed a week prior, I write this letter to express my intentions to indulge in a tender affair of pampering with your person. This appointment shall last at least two hours and, if permitted, deep into the associated night. I have enclosed the relevant terms below for your favourable consideration:</p>
  <p>1. That it shall include a not insignificant number of wrapped limbs and face-to-neck contact that could possibly cut off perfusing blood supply to your not-insignificantly-sized head.</p>
  <p>2. That it shall include a copious amount of extemporaneous lip-presses if the situation deems it wanting.</p>
  <p>3. That it shall include an auditorily indistinct recollection of the happenings of my day, which is to be spoken by my person into the lower border of your mandible.</p>
  <p>4. That I shall be appropriately dressed in my green cotton hoodie and appropriately accessorised with my plastic fox hair fasteners.</p>
  <p>Other potential avenues, if they emerge, may be spontaneously explored with requisite due diligence. This appointment shall commence at 2000H on 24 July, 2019. As per verbal agreements, this letter has been issued at least twelve hours ahead of the proposed schedule.</p>
  <p>Respectfully Yours,<br/>
Kiyoomi</p>
  <p>The Participants and Witness have acknowledged this Letter of Intent on the dates noted below.</p>
</blockquote><p>It's signed on the bottom in the cursive scrawl of one Sakusa Kiyoomi, and the less cursive font of one Komori Motoya. Beside his title of Witness, there’s also a scribbled designation of 'Unofficial Notary' in parentheses. The line for Atsumu's own signature remains empty.</p><p>Atsumu draws a deep breath in, pushes it into his lungs, lets it settle above his diaphragm. He exhales. Slowly, resolutely, he refolds the letter along its creases and settles it atop the envelope.</p><p>Then he collapses bonelessly on the couch, grabs a cushion, and screams all of his woes into it. </p><p>How the fuck is this possible? The letter was meant to serve as a warning, but the petrifying, blooming, eldritch warmth is back just from reading it, so do warning letters now need a perfunctory warning too? Has he started some sort of cyclical conundrum?</p><p>Maybe it's just Kiyoomi, who took the time to actually scribe this thing with his goddamned fountain pen, who must've researched on how to craft a letter in a passable parody of legal jargon, who had to suck it up and ask Komori to play witness to the mayhem of their relationship. Yeah, maybe it's just the overbearing fondness Atsumu hadn’t even thought he could harbour for this ridiculous man.</p><p>Atsumu has about fourteen hours to either deal with this or make preparations for a funeral. But first, he snatches up a ballpoint pen and goes to sign his name on the atrocious declaration of war. Etches on a 'fuck you' and a heart for good measure. Spiteful, he makes sure to leave it in plain sight, and decides to clear his mind during the jog instead.</p><p>(It doesn't work. How is he expected to try and steel himself for approaching doom when his brain just alternates between white noise and an unhelpful montage of all of Kiyoomi's endearing moments?)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After dinner that night, as the dreaded hour rolls by, Kiyoomi—who really is in his beloved faded hoodie and the hair clips Atsumu gave him—cocks an eyebrow and looks at him meaningfully. "You signed it," he reminds.</p><p>"So I did," Atsumu agonises. He's just as prepared as he was earlier that morning (which is to say, not at all), now burdened with the added evisceration of Kiyoomi fulfilling his promised words with actions. Just like when he's making a serve, Atsumu forces all his muscles to go lax, sharpens his focus on the opponent; it's only twenty steps to their bedroom. "Let's get this over with."</p><p>Kiyoomi ends up being wound around Atsumu like a particularly heavy koala-blanket, one of Atsumu's legs caught between both of his, hair clips digging into Atsumu's chin. Because Atsumu is a masochist who will never learn from past mistakes, he's threaded his fingers into Kiyoomi's curls, scraping gently at his scalp. It drags out a low humming sound from Kiyoomi, the equivalent of a contented purr, deep enough that it rumbles against Atsumu's chest. Kiyoomi rubs his cheek against the edge of Atsumu's jaw. </p><p>Atsumu isn’t going to walk out from this unscathed. "Yer killin' me."</p><p>"Good." Kiyoomi punctuates this with a thumb swiped across the line of his cheekbone and a kiss placed between his eyebrows, one foot stroking up the inside of his ankle. Heart shuddering, vocal cords trembling, Atsumu lets out a garbled whine. Kiyoomi murmurs softly, "Why are you fighting this? Just enjoy it."</p><p>Atsumu frowns and glares. He hopes his expression doesn't come across as too constipated. "How am I supposed to enjoy this when my heart's doin' jumpin' jacks and my muscles get all twitchy, huh?" </p><p>"I can't believe I'm the literate one in this relationship," Kiyoomi mutters. Atsumu rears up to protest, but is stopped with two of Kiyoomi's palms clapped onto the sides of his face. The look on Kiyoomi is the same deadly calm one he gets before ripping a killer spike; Atsumu feels oddly subdued. "Verbal warning. I am about to say something that could be construed as affectionate. Please know that I only intend it in the meanest of ways."</p><p>Atsumu rests his hand on Kiyoomi's waist as acknowledgement. Squeezes his eyes shut in defence.</p><p>"We are <em>dating.</em> This isn't some match you have to win—but just so we’re clear, I'm definitely better than you at this. Atsumu, you're experiencing a normal reaction to being in close proximity to someone you care about— stop pouting." Kiyoomi retaliates by squishing his cheeks together. "Let it wash over you. The discomfort is part of the deal. When was the last time you were actually disgusted by this?"</p><p>This brings Atsumu pause. He stops to consider it—the roiling wave of nausea he used to get has long since dispersed. What's left isn't disgust, more like a disconcerting distraction he shies away from because he's a cowardly fool afraid of emotional commitment. It's a blessing in disguise that his heart didn't get the memo and fell in headfirst anyway.</p><p>Placated by his silence, Kiyoomi huffs in gratification and leans back in to glide kisses over his shoulder and collarbones. The hitch in Atsumu's breath and the tensing of his back muscles can't go ignored by either of them. Still, Atsumu does his best; trails his fingers down the dip in Kiyoomi's spine and grits out, "Ya don't have to give me any more trigger warnings if ya don't want to."</p><p>"And miss the face you make when I do? No."</p><p>Bastard. So maybe the affection angina won't go away, maybe the catch in his breath will stay for years, maybe he'll never get used to Kiyoomi; Atsumu's made sudden peace with that. Nose buried into Kiyoomi's soft hair, neck tickled by Kiyoomi's lashes, Atsumu ebbs into languor to Kiyoomi’s slurred mumbles of his day. Lulls himself to distant dreams of cuddle-blighted futures. It comes at a risk to his health, but he’s sure it'll be worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I started writing this thing just for the letter, and somehow it wrapped around to me simultaneously projecting and clowning on Atsumu. Maybe I’m just clowning myself? </p><p>Thank you so much for reading! If you've enjoyed it, please… spare a comment for a hungry soul *rattles can*. I would love to know which lines hit you.</p><p>You can come say hi to me on my <a href="https://twitter.com/chivience">Twitter</a> where I will offer you zero content, or on the SASS Discord (only for those over 15)  where I offer you slightly more than zero content!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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